In a serious struggle there is no worse cruelty than to be magnanimous at an inopportune time.

A rock set among the shells. Derwent foreshore, Bellerive Boardwalk. January 2012.

A very special Theme Thursday today, and all that I am seeking is a little BALANCE.

It's Australia Day you see, and I hate Australia Day. Now don't get me wrong, I don't hate Australia (some of my best friends are Australians!), I hate Australia Day.

I hate the dickheads who shout AUSSIE AUSSIE AUSSIE all day. I hate the pissed dickeads. I hate the dickheads decked out in Australian flag thongs, Australian flag shorts, Australian flag singlets, Australian flag hats waving little Australian flags.

In the course of my lifetime Australians have gone from taking pride in their wry snub of ostentatious hubris and wrapping oneself in bits of cloth representing an empty symbolism to the kind of moronic culture that fuses heavy drinking, wrapping oneself in bits of cloth representing an empty symbolism and the kind of macho aggressive xenophobic posturing that has always been present but we once had the good sense to be ashamed of.

There's no BALANCE you see. You're either with Australia Day or against Australia Day. There's little scope for sombre reflection when the beer is flowing and the flags are being thrust in your face.

There's little awareness among the mobs of Southern Cross-bedecked dickheads of why the date itself might just be an ill-chosen one. They struggle with the idea that it is intrinsically offensive to Aboriginal Australians. They miss the fact that our 'National day' ultimately celebrates the founding of a single state. There's no head scratching at the celebration of an event that represents Britain's cruel dumping of her non-citizens in chains in a deeply foreign and hostile land on the other side of the world.

I could go into why I blame the bicentennial (I won't). I could blame John Howard (I do). The saddest thing is that you probably think you look like this, but all that I can see is this.